Reflections
by The Umbrella
Summary: What they see when they look in the mirror. Characters: Batman, the Joker.


**Title:** Reflections

**Universe:** Nolanverse

**Warnings:** None.

**A/N:** These characters do not belong to me; they are the property of . . . whoever owns them.

**Summary:** What they see when they look in the mirror.

* * *

The fight had been short and painful (painfully short?), but in the end he had come away with a prize.

Joker held the Batman's mask aloft and examined it in the light. He frowned. _Would have been more impressive had the head still been inside of it. Heheh._

Bringing the mask closer, he ran his fingers over the curves and contours of the headpiece. It was soft and smooth. Deep ridges rose and fell over the eyes, giving the mask a permanent scowl. The ears were long, pointed and surprisingly sharp. He ran the tip of his index finger over one, pressing roughly against the point. Warm blood welled up and dripped down over his skin.

Sticking his finger in his mouth, he sucked the blood away and giggled softly at the taste. Salty, tangy, dirty, and something else. Raising the mask to his mouth, he gently slid his tongue up the length of an ear. He felt the razor edge cut into soft flesh and grinned. Turning his head, he pressed his bloody mouth to the bat's forehead, then pulled away to admire his work.

Handling the mask carefully, he moved into the bathroom and turned on the light. The fan over his head buzzed as the light flickered and sputtered before bathing the room in a dim, yellow glow. Standing before the mirror, he raised the mask and gently slid it over his head. It was a little big, yet the pressing of his hair against his scalp made him feel claustrophobic all the same.

The Joker stared at his reflection. Black rimmed eyes. Red lips. Clean shaven chin. The metallic scowl etched across his forehead found its way to his mouth.

Suddenly it wasn't funny anymore.

Ripping the mask from his head, he tossed it into bathtub. Stepping out for a moment, he rummaged through the dark rooms before returning with a sledgehammer. Hoisting it above his head, he took aim at the mask and swung down.

* * *

Bruce sat on the edge of a tub in the small bathroom. His gloves and gauntlets had been the first items removed, followed swiftly by his heavy cape and boots. Steady fingers made quick work of the rest of his suit, then searched out any injuries too sever to wait until tomorrow morning to address. They found one lancing up across his chest. During the fight he had been distracted by the Joker and one of his lackeys had managed to slide a knife in between his armored plating.

Bruce growled at the thought of the manic man. Grabbing a wad of gauze, he slapped it roughly against the cut, using the pain to clear his head a little. Standing, he moved to the sink and began to wet a washcloth.

Fortunately, it had been exceptionally dark tonight. He doubted anyone had seen. The fight had ended abruptly and Bruce had made no small effort to escape the scene as quickly as possible.

Pulling the bloody gauze away, he gently dabbed at his wound with the warm washcloth. The blood flow was slowing, thankfully. He'd have to stitch it up later. One more scar to add to the dozens that lined his chest.

A drop of red splashed into the white porcelain sink. Bruce turned his eyes up to the mirror and noticed for the first time that his mouth was covered in blood. He faintly recalled a pain across his chin as the mask was violently ripped away from his head. Raising his fingers to his lips, he probed until he found the source of the blood. A small cut ran from the corner of his mouth down across his chin. It was shallow for the most part, but where it had run over his lip the cut bled freely.

Bruce stared at his reflection. Behind him he watched the white light bounce off white tiled floor and walls, white ceiling, white toilet and tub, white sink. White face. Black rimmed eyes. Red mouth. His fingers, still lingering over the cut, pulled up and across his cheek. A thick trail of blood followed in their wake.

He glared at the reflection. Pulling his arm back in one smooth, violent motion, he took aim at the mirror and swung down.

* * *

A/N2: Feedback appreciated. :)


End file.
